


Our Shared Mutual Destruction

by Shells19



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcoholism, Confusion, Gen, M/M, Steve Angst, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve is lonely, Steve writes a letter, Takes place after Captain America: Civil War, Tony Angst, Tony Needs a Hug, Tony is heartbroken, Tony writes a letter back, Uncertainty, it can go either way, slash only if you want it to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shells19/pseuds/Shells19
Summary: The Avengers were divided, two teams split down the middle. To think that they were the ones who saved the world not once, but twice … Tony Stark couldn’t exactly believe that. The fight done and over with, relationships and friendships scattered into a thousand pieces that had no hope of being put back together, all that really seemed left to do was grieve. 
–
He was adamant that he had made the right calls. Or he thought he did. In truth, all Steve had wanted was to protect the one person who understood him, who was connected to him on more levels than the Avengers could comprehend. He hadn’t meant to lose them all in the process. He hadn’t meant to tear himself from them, hadn’t meant to divide them anymore than what the Sokovian Accords had done. He just … he hadn’t meant for any of it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassy27](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassy27/gifts).



It had been weeks since the fight, weeks since Tony realised that Captain America’s best friend was the one who had killed his parents. He’d like to think he was handling it well, but in truth … He wasn’t handling it well at all. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the Winter Soldier – Winter Soldier, because he couldn’t call him by name, by the name of the man who was behind the mask, couldn’t give him that acknowledgement – causing that wreck. Whenever he closed his eyes, all he could see was the Winter Soldier pulling his father out of the car and punching him over and over and over and over again until he fell limply to the ground, the sounds of his mother screaming from where she was in the passenger’s seat. And when he had walked around the car, ripping the passenger’s door completely away from its hinges –

That was when Tony jerked himself awake, when his own fear and anger and pain had gripped him in the depth of sleep and snapped him back into reality. He couldn’t see him kill her again, couldn’t hear her terrified screams and cries, couldn’t see the acceptance dull her eyes when she realised that she was going to die. He had thought he had made his peace with their death, had thought it only to be a car accident. But knowing that it wasn’t an accident at all, knowing that it was merely fabricated to look that way while they were, in fact, murdered … It left a bitter taste in his mouth – and it wasn’t just the alcohol that was doing it.

Truth was, Tony wasn’t doing well at all. And it wasn’t just his parents getting brutally murdered that had him up at all hours of the night. It was Pepper, too. Pepper, who had yet to talk or text or say anything to him after she couldn’t handle his life and called it quits. Pepper, who had been through everything with him, but couldn’t find it in herself to talk or text him after the dust had settled. He couldn’t blame her entirely, couldn’t hate her all that much. Of course, in a way, he did. Of course, he did. How couldn’t he? While he understood her reasoning for leaving him, why he understood the fact that there was only so much that she could handle, after everything, how could she do it? How could she leave him? Why, when everything was starting to fall apart, did she choose that moment to tell him that she couldn’t be with him?

It had stung, had hurt like hell, but it was only the beginning, because then the Sokovian Accords happened and, somehow, the Avengers were divided. The Avengers, a family that he hadn’t realised he wanted or needed, suddenly cut in two before he even had the time to take a breath, before he even had time to fix it. And he had tried. God, had he tired. But it hadn’t been enough, because what he wanted and what Steve wanted …

Somehow, that hurt more than Pepper. Because for all of Steve’s faults, he was a good man. He fought for those who couldn’t, fought to do the right thing, even when he knew that it would cause quakes and tremors that would travel for miles and miles, he did it. And it was something Tony could admire. Could respect. Even when everything was falling apart, even when they were fighting and trying to rip each other apart, even when he was angry and aiming to hurt and break, there was always that underlining respect. Of course, it had taken him a while to realise that. Because he was hurt like hell, was split into pieces, and the only thing keeping him together was the many bottles of alcohol that he had stacked on display in his little ward of the compound. Because everyone was gone and it was just him, suffering the loss of … of, well, everything and everyone that had a piece in his life. Because they were all gone. All of them, gone.

–

He didn’t regret what he did – not entirely, at least. There were things, he’d admit, that he could have done better, things he could have made a different call on. But the truth of the matter was that, at the time, when those decisions needed to be made, when a call, an order, had to be given, he re-acted exactly as he thought he should. And looking back on it now, when the dust had settled, Steve could recognise a mistake when it was made. Could look back on everything and realise what a huge mess of everything he’d made. But did he regret it? How could he when he got Bucky out of harm’s way? How could he when the only link to his previous life was back, was safe, was out of the hands of Hydra, was no longer being used as a weapon? He didn’t regret the actions that he took to protect his best friend. Everything else, though …

He’d lost a lot of friends in the span of days. At first, it hadn’t bothered him that much. After all, who did he value more – a few friends who had gotten him through a world he couldn’t even recognise, a few friends who he had fought with, had drinks with, respected, laughed with? Or the one friend he had known since he was just a kid in the early forties? Who had been through everything with him, who had followed him through anything? A friend that he had lost and mourned and found again? Now, at first, Steve had reasoned that he could live with the loss of a few friends for the sake of the one, but he was faced with the realisation that maybe they had meant more to him than he had previously thought.

He missed them. Especially now. Bucky was back in cryo, something that Steve never thought he would allow after everything, but it had been his call. His fear of being taken over again, of being responsible for more lives being lost at his hand. It was admirable and brave. It was also what had Steve leaving Wakanda alone.

Maybe that had been the reason he wrote the note to Tony, why he reached out to him, letting him know that he was there, that he was sorry for what happened between them. Maybe that was why he bought a cheap phone and plugged his number in the contacts, letting Tony know that he was there if he wanted to talk, that he was there if he needed him in any way.

He doubted that Tony would use it. After all, after everything that had happened between them – the horrible things they said to each other, the way they clashed, aiming to hurt and break –, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if he received nothing, if his mobile remained silent, unused. Steve hoped that wouldn’t be the case, hoped that he would wake in the morning to Tony calling him. Steve, in truth, was lonely. And, with Bucky in Wakanda, was alone. Because Steve could admit that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Maybe that was why he sent Tony the phone – because he knew that, while he was brave, he wasn’t strong enough to make the call.

–

_Tony, I’m glad you’re back at the compound. I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I’ve been on my own since I was eighteen. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the army. My faith’s in people, I guess. Individuals. And I’m happy to say that, for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down, either. Locks can be re-placed, but maybe they shouldn’t._

_I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents, I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you’re doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do. That’s all any of us should … So, no matter what, I promise you, if you need us – if you need me –, I’ll be there._

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with the letter when it arrived in a box. He really didn’t. It had been sitting on his desk when he had gotten to it, his attention divided between the conversation he was having with Ross and the coffee mug that maybe had more than coffee inside. Perhaps that had been the reason for Tony indulging Steve, for opening it and reading the letter, which, quite frankly, knocked him on his ass. He had been angry, had felt nothing but rage for the better part of an hour after hanging up on Ross, something he hadn’t felt since they were tearing each other apart in Siberia. He had crumbled the note and had tossed it into a trash-bin. Had taken it back out, straightening it the best he could. Thrown it away, taken it back out. The pattern continuing until he realised that he wasn’t going to get any work done.

He had left the compound then, had gotten into his car, and driven to the Tower. Maybe, because of the familiarity. Maybe, because he needed to be amongst his gadgets and toys, his little inventions that made sense to no-one, but him. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that he had a better stock of alcohol than the compound did. One drink led to another and another and another, and before Tony was even aware of it, he had the mobile that Steve sent him in his hands, his finger hovering over his name. If he had been sober, he wouldn’t have thought twice about picking up that mobile or even turning it on. If he had been sober, that was probably what he would have thought would happen, the anger taking hold, and preventing him from going anywhere near the phone. But somewhere in Tony’s drunk-addled mind … he knew that he would have picked up the phone, would have pressed the button that connected the call.

And he did.

It rang twice before he realised what he had done and chickened out, but before he could turn the phone off and put it somewhere he wouldn’t remember when he was in the right frame of mind, the call connected, and a familiar voice filtered through the line.

“Tony?”

His breath hitched in his throat, his eyes watering, though for what reason, for what purpose, he was unclear. Furrowing his brow, Tony leaned his elbows on his knees and inhaled deeply. “It’s me.”

There was a pause. And it was clear to Tony in that moment that Steve hadn’t expected him to call, hadn’t thought he would be brazen enough, hadn’t thought he would be strong enough, to make such a call. But when Steve finally spoke, his voice sounded hopeful, relieved, almost. It had Tony’s head spinning, confusion muddling his thoughts. “I’m glad you called. It’s good to hear your voice.”

“I’ve only said two words.”

“And now seven.”

Tony huffed and ran his thumb and pointer finger over his eyes. Standing up, he slowly moved over to the large windows that framed the entirety of one wall, allotting him a grand view of Manhattan’s skyline. He wasn’t really seeing it, though. If anything, he was wracking his mind, trying to figure out why he had called, what he was even going to say to the man. Apprehension clawed at his insides, had his heart lodged in the throat, and he didn’t know why.

“You got my letter.” Not a question, but a statement of fact. It was enough for Tony to clench his jaw and turn away from the view, choosing instead to lean his back against it. He placed a hand against the window, unsure if it was to keep him in place from wobbly knees or if he needed purchase to keep him grounded.

“Yeah.”

“I meant what I said, Tony. All of it, I –”

Shaking his head, unable to listen to another word, Tony squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his free hand to prevent himself from slamming it up against something. The anger was upon him before he could even register it, the pain and the helplessness of it all. And the last thing that he needed and wanted to do in that moment was to talk about a stupid letter that Steve had written after the fact, after it was all said and done, after he was miles and miles away from him, the distance making him believe that it was all okay, that they could go back to how they were before.

“Why’d you do it?” He demanded before he could help himself. His voice sounded bitter and broken, even to his own ears, the words choppy due to how much alcohol he’d consumed. And he had drunken a lot. But he didn’t care. Because all of a sudden, he was split open and vulnerable again, left exposed for the whole world to see, and worse – Steve. “You write a letter. That’s great. You want understanding and forgiveness. Sure. But why?”

There was another long pause, the only thing that Tony could hear was the sound of Steve breathing, the unsteady inhale and the shaky exhale. He clung to it, waiting, barely breathing, because he wanted to know just as much as he wanted to hear the sound of Steve’s voice once more. Because at least he was there. As angry as he was, at least he was there.

“I care about you.”

“You didn’t seem to care about Rhodey when he was falling from the sky, trapped in an Iron Man suit, pursuing you and a terrorist in a jet.”

“That’s not fair.” Steve fired back. Good. A fight. He could deal with a fight. He could twist words and meanings just like the rest of them. It was better than what they were doing, trying to find a happy medium when there wasn’t one. How could there be after all that they’d been through? And yet … and yet it was exactly what Tony wanted more than anything. Because at least he would have something again. But he knew that he couldn’t. “There were choices made on both sides, Tony. Both sides. As unfortunately as it is what happened to Rhodey, he made the call to pursue us.”

His entire body began to shake. “I cannot believe those words really left your mouth.” A mouth he desperately wanted to punch. “He’s paralysed, Steve. Do you really not care? Are you that selfish?”

“You know I care.”

“And yet you’re harbouring the Winter Soldier. Tell me: Where is he?”

“You know I can’t tell you that. You and the government will come after him and I won’t let you punish him for something he had no control over.” Steve sighed angrily over the phone, probably just as frustrated as Tony. No matter what they did, it would always surmount to this. The thought tasted bitter on his tongue. “I have to go.”

“Yeah, you’re good at going, aren’t you?” Tony snarled, hanging up the phone and throwing it across the room. Without even thinking, he crossed the room, and swiped his hands over the surface, sending glasses and empty bottles of scotch crashing to the floor.

He felt nothing when he lost his footing and dropped to the cold ground, felt nothing when glass bit into his arms and legs, his shirt specked with beads of blood. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d fallen in a drunken stupor; wasn’t the first time he had woken up in a pile of mess that he’d dishevelled the night before – or nights before. He didn’t get back up, though. Because that required energy, required a certain amount of strength he didn’t have. Not anymore.

–

Food tasted bitter in his mouth. Coffee did, too. In fact, anything and everything Steve did felt dull, felt tedious and monotonous, felt mind-numbing and lifeless. Even after so many days of talking to Tony, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to feel much more than dejected. Maybe it was because he was so excited, yet incredibly nervous, when he heard that phone ring. In that moment – between him walking toward the phone and answering it –, he had felt as though they would be able to talk things out, would be able to make things right again. It was a foolish thought. Too much had happened for that to ever come. And it was that realisation that had Steve going numb. Because instead of trying to figure out a solution to accommodate both sides, he had chosen only one side. And by that choice, he had lost a piece of himself he hadn’t realised he needed.

The saying was right: You never knew what you had until it was gone.

And Steve hated himself for it.

–

_I guess you were right when it came to sending me that letter. Voicing your thoughts on paper is actually a lot easier than saying it to something’s face – or even over the phone. Truth is, I’m not doing all that great. I can’t find my footing here, Steve. Not after everything. You say the Avengers are my family, but … I don’t think so. Not anymore. Because I lost them. And I don’t know if there is any going back from that, you know?_

_Truth is … Terrible things have happened. And I hate it. I hate that we are in this pattern of mutually assured destruction. You escalate, I escalate. But I don’t know what to_  
_do. Tell me, Steve. Tell me what I can do. What can I do to make it stop?_

–

When the letter came, when Steve opened it up, and read it, he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It hadn’t been long, hadn’t taken up half of a page, but somehow, it had knocked him right on his ass, had sucked the air from his lungs. Because there were multiple things that he had gotten from that letter, things that made him feel good and bad and grateful and so incredibly devastated. So many emotions swirling around him that Steve didn’t dare move. He remained in his seat, eyes transfixed on the pages, on the words that had probably taken a lot out of Tony to write. Because it was scrawled in pen. Wasn’t printed from a computer. Ink smeared that page, ink that Tony must have found lying around somewhere. It was two short paragraphs that he had forced himself to write by hand, showing just how confused and unsure he was of everything. Because Tony Stark didn’t write with paper and pen. But he had. For him.

But the letter also showed that he was in no better of a state than he was. His mind was scattered and lost, trying to pick up the pieces that he had lost along the way. It was selfish to think that Tony wasn’t suffering just as much as he was, and Steve was willing and strong enough to admit that he was drowning, too. And as grateful as he was that Tony had written that letter, there was a part of him that felt unease trickle through him, that had his stomach dropping, an uncomfortable feeling that had him swallowing thickly, because Tony didn’t know, either. Tony didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to do, so what did that mean?

And then it came to him, a startling realisation that had him closing his eyes and blowing out a deep breath. Too much had happened for there to be any closure. At least not then. Not after so little time had passed. His eyes felt prickly as he opened them, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he neatly folded the letter up and slipped it back into the envelope. And then he did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that made any sense, the only thing that was easy.

He picked up a piece of paper and a pen, and he began to write.


End file.
